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VOLUME 1
AN INCEPTION OF DUALITY
Published by No Extra Source
United Kingdom
Text © Jack Anderson, 2026
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, distributed, lent, hired, sublicensed, adapted, or resold in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews.
This work may not be used, in whole or in part, for the purposes of training, developing, or improving machine learning systems, artificial intelligence models, or similar technologies without the express written consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
First edition.
Cover design by Jack Anderson ©
Interior artwork by Natalia Ciufo ©
Edited by Kate Richards, James Maddox
Printed and bound in the United Kingdom.
For any queries:
For everyone who has ever doubted their place or purpose in this world.
THE K-LEAGUE
FOUNDING DOCUMENT
119 PI
This world was once ravaged by powers unknown. In what we call The Inception, humanity was decimated and the majority of the planet left uninhabitable.
Life resides now on the only three inhabitable islands remaining. Kyolholmen, Lundamira, and here, Chrystheria.
Lord Kamen, the One Divine Ruler, could not fulfil his legacy and save humanity before his ascension.
It is my duty to find a saviour, who shall fulfil Kamen’s Legacy and lead humanity to eternal prosperity as the New Divine Ruler.
Therefore, I have created the K-League.
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All Chrystherian children between the ages of thirteen and eighteen will trial for the K-League. The forty strongest shall be selected as Fighters.
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No adult shall compete, for they would have proved their worth in adolescence, had they possessed it.
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A Fighter will face each opponent twice, totalling seventy-eight fights over thirty-nine weeks.
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Fighters who win, by knockout or submission, receive one league point, or two if they win within two minutes.
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Fighters who are defeated will suffer a one-point deduction, or two if defeated within two minutes.
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The individual with the most points after seventy-eight fights will be named champion.
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The champion shall face the Victor’s Trial.
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I will acknowledge any champion who beats my trial as worthy.
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As the New Divine Ruler, they shall inherit Kamen’s Legacy.
One must master the art of combat and the Power of Kamen to have any hope of succeeding and saving humanity.
I devise this test in honour of the Lord himself, and write this in ink to manifest the pursuit of his legacy.
Let it be known that I shall willingly relinquish my own status once it is passed.
May the legacy of Kamen be yours. Now and forever.
V. Xhensson
CHAPTER ONE
Alex Zashin
Date: K-DAY
Year: 144 PI
The beauty of fighting exists in the moment.
The moment my most raw instinct takes over.
Fight or flight?
Flight has no worth here in Chrystheria. Chrystheria is an island built around fighting. Fighting is my duty. Duty falls upon only the strongest. Only the strongest can be a winner. A winner must master the moment. The moment is an unparalleled measure of who I am. Who I am depends on how I respond to the ultimate question: am I willing—and able—to beat the shit out of someone else, before they beat the shit out of me?
A fight is made up of this moment, a million times over.
And so, I find it funny where my mind can go in such a beautifully violent moment.
This time, as I slam my upturned fist into my opponent’s nose to kickstart my first fight of the year, it’s drawn to two inescapable words.
Kamen’s Legacy.
The words have been drilled into us since we could first form our fingers into fists. It’s the reason we do all this. Twice a week. Thirty-nine weeks of the year.
Fight. Win. Repeat. Praise the almighty Lord Kamen and battle for the glory of becoming the New Divine Ruler.
The words give us purpose. I can almost hear my father saying the words as he’s telling me stories of Kamen. “They say he fought with nine limbs,” he says in my mind. “The foundation of Kamen’s Legacy.” He’s sitting at the end of my bed. I’m looking up at him in wonder, believing that those words will someday belong to me. It’s just the hopeless ambition of every dream-filled child, really. The words echo in my mind once more: Kamen’s Legacy.
Then a fist to my face snaps me back to reality.
“What are you doing, Alex? Focus!” someone shouts from outside the sandpit in which I stand. I scoff slightly, exhaling through my nose. It comes from one of thirty-eight teenagers who linger beyond the edge of the pit. Their voices overlap, creating a constant hum that reverberates around the interior of the building.
“Bastard,” I say, flicking the tip of my nose with my knuckle. “Good shot, Phil.” I take a step away from the boy who just punched me in the face. “Looks like mine was better, though,” I say, nodding towards him. He frowns, then a red droplet falls from the tip of his nose.
“Oh! Already? Not again!” he says in a slow, deep voice. Phillus Orakamon is my opponent today. It's K-Day, the opening fight day of the K-League.
Phillus sniffles. His nose continues to drip with blood. Tears well in his eyes, threatening to drop and shatter his masculinity.
Despite us being two of the eldest in the league now, at eighteen-years-old, Phillus is perhaps the opponent I fear least of the thirty-nine other Fighters. The memory of our last fight breaks into my brain before I can stop it. I’d dropped him—and his trousers—with a hook to the ribs. The image of his sprawled-out body and sweaty butt cheeks was permanently etched into my brain that day, which is as horrific as it is hilarious, truthfully.
I take a step towards Phillus, who now holds his hands up to his face in a defensive guard. He’s a few inches shorter than me, and a few inches wider too. I watch as he rubs his face, smearing sweat and dirt across his chubby cheeks. His legs are shaking slightly. They look scarily similar to the legs of the chickens I’d seen on Kyolholmen, Chrystheria’s neighbouring island.
I push my right foot into the ground and use the momentum created to swing my leg forward, bringing my shin crashing down into the side of Phillus’ left thigh. I plant that foot once more and throw a straight right hand into his face, spraying tiny flecks of blood into the sand beneath our feet. He grunts and pushes his fringe off his eyes. He has dirty blonde hair that hangs in tangles by his shoulders, and it almost always seems to be drenched in sweat. Today is no different. Staring at Phillus, I almost want to comfort him.
I choose to kick him silly instead.
As he holds his nose with his left hand, I bring my right leg up towards my chest. Then I extend at the knee and thrust the ball of my foot into Phillus's chest. He stumbles backwards upon impact, but he manages to stay standing. The crowd lets out a small cheer. Good, I think.
“Nice recovery,” I say, nodding. “That one sent you flying on your arse last year, so you must be getting better.”
He frowns, but the corner of his mouth tugs upward, and I can see that he appreciates the comment—even if it was a little patronising. I smile, before looking him up and down again. I can’t help but notice that, while his build still somewhat resembles a bag of milk, he’s definitely lost a few pounds in the twelve weeks between last year’s league ending and this new one commencing. Kudos. He must have trained hard over the break. Then again, I am repeatedly smacking him about right now, so there has to be something said for my approach, too.
I sidestep as Phillus charges at me, trying to tackle me at my waist. I pivot and land a jab to his temple for good measure, knocking him off balance. “You’re being too predictable, Phil. You can do better than that, ‘cro!” I say encouragingly.
“Don’t patronise me, Alex,” he says, touching his forehead. “If you’re gonna fight, fight!” Just a touch of frustration seems to boil from within him now. He tries to kick my left calf with his right leg. I doubt his conditioning is better than mine, so I confidently swing my leg outward and upward. I’m proved right as his shin crashes into mine, and he retreats with a whimper. Grimacing, I place my foot back on the floor.
I raise both my eyebrows at him in response and let out a sigh. I know I should stay focused, but my mind wanders once again. This time, I’m sitting with my friends Kai and Crystal. We’re laughing. The dark sea of stars stretches far into the unknown above us. It’s mesmerising—beautiful, even. I can almost feel the nighttime breeze as I reminisce.
Then I snap my eyes open to see a set of fat fingers making their way towards my face, in the shape of a fist.
Phillus's right hook lands evenly on my jaw, sending a shudder through my skull that makes my teeth vibrate. There’s a thudding sound as it connects. The crowd falls silent for a moment. Then I hear a laugh, and then another, before cheers start erupting for Phillus this time.
I shake my head and hop out of my opponent’s reach. Ouch. That one actually hurt. I flush at the switching momentum of the crowd. I’m absolutely not going out like this.
You’re stronger, my ego whispers.
Time to flip the script.
“That was cheap, Phil. Good, but cheap,” I say, reaching upward and pushing my fringe back through the rest of my hair. I take a step to my left.
“You know I like you, right,” I say, resting one hand on my knee and raising the other towards him. “So, I’m sorry for whatever happens next,” I say, smirking at him from under my eyebrows. I run the same hand across my forehead before streaking it down the edges of my cheekbones and off my jaw.
Then I stand tall and assume a Fighter’s stance, with balled fists held out in front of me.
“You know the drill. Let’s fucking do this, cro.”
I see Phillus grit his teeth, and I smile in anticipation.
Bait. Trap. Morph. Swing. Knockout.
I formulate the combination in my head and visualise every moment. Then I pause.
I think this one would work better topless.
It’s my ego talking again.
I hesitate. Then I shrug and grip the ends of my blue belt and pull it loose, tossing it to the side. I tug the sides of my Fighters gi, shrugging as it slides down my shoulders to reveal my upper body. I turn slightly, looking left, then right, bathing in the atmosphere. The noise in the room filters into a slightly higher pitch suddenly, and my confidence skyrockets.
Show them you’re the strongest
Power pumps through me. I can feel the eyes of different audience members burning into the blue depths of my own, but I don’t bother checking for the individuals. There’s only one person that I desperately wish is watching. Closely. The image of her silky black hair flowing down her tasteful figure as she walks away from me burns into my vision. I blink it away.
Focus, Alex.
I force a smile. Looking down at my outstretched arms, I twist them slightly. The colourful veins that weave their way down my arm ripple over the muscle beneath them. Phillus looks at me, cocking his head to the side and blinking slowly.
“Seriously?” he asks, seeming mildly irritated. Ignoring him, I flex. The rigid outline that carves into my abdominals sharpens. Ribbed obliques craft a stairway up to my pectoral shelf, which I tense.
Listen, some things in life can only be achieved through undeniable hard work. If you put in the hard work, why wouldn’t you show it off? That’s how I see it, anyway. Phillus might not see it the same way right now, but that seems like a ‘him problem’ from where I stand.
Following this chain of thought, I do something which is, even by my own standards, pretty diabolical.
I stare at Phillus. Slowly, I raise my right arm towards him. I rotate my wrist so that my clenched fist is facing the ceiling, before extending my index and middle fingers at him.
I pause there.
Then I contract them twice, quickly. Try me, my aura dares, and his eyes widen. He looks at me, then at the surroundings enveloping us, as if seeing them for the first time.
We stand in a hexagonal sandpit, sealed in by a low, dark brown fence. The pit’s width is three times my height, and the fence sits at stomach level. The building is huge. It’s a colossal, wooden structure that is nothing less than a testament to craftsmanship. Aged wood extends up to the ceiling far beyond my reach. I bend my neck all the way back and study the roof, where more wooden panels lie criss-crossed in a striking pattern.
At the back of the room, opposite the huge, arched entrance, stands a grand statue. Lord Kamen, the One Divine Ruler. It’s an unmissable symbol of our duty here in the K-League: to fight and to win.
The clan elders hold the competition every year, right here in the Kakuto Sanctum. After twenty-five years, and twenty-five champions, not one Fighter has been able to pass the elders’ final trial.
Despite these odds, I stand tall in the Sento Fighter Pit.
I question why. But only for a half moment.
“Fight, you fools!” The resonating voice of Elder Tensai pulls me back into the fight, and I see Phillus blink hard. Then his face sags as he sighs, looking me up and down.
He shakes his head, balls his fists and takes a step towards me. I go to kick his left thigh with the ball of my foot, raising my right knee up and extending it down towards my target. It connects and stops him in his tracks. All the while, I hold my left hand high to my face, exposing my obliques.
He advances again and I repeat the same kick—a teep to his thigh that stops his forward movement. My left arm remains high. He grunts in frustration before trying to take another step forward. I catch him for the third time with the same kick. It’s not a hard kick; it’s just enough to slow him down and annoy him. This time, however, his eyes switch to my exposed right side. And they flash.
Baited.
Anticipation fires through me. His clunky movements telegraph the kick, but I wait until the last feasible moment before stepping my right foot to the side, away from his oncoming leg.
As I sidestep, I drop my left arm down and around his right leg. I bend my arm and bring it towards my chest, tensing as I do so. My fist slams into my torso, trapping Phillus's lower leg between the crease of my elbow and my ribcage. I stand tall and lock it, firmly, ensnaring the boy in my hold.
Trapped.
This is it.
Show them how strong you are, my ego encourages me. Show them all.
I envision what I desire. I know exactly what I want to do, and I know the exact command word I need.
I hope she’s watching. Please, Lord, let her be watching.
“Harden.”
I verbalise the word with a rumbling bass to it. I manifest it, bringing its meaning into the physical world before reigning it in and directing it down my body, as I’ve practised so many times. The strange but familiar sensation sizzles from atop my spine. I feel it pulse down my back and spread throughout my nervous system. It’s as if someone were tracing two fingers across my body in a soothing yet rapid and unpredictable motion. I search my pathways until I find it.
There.
I chase the sensation across my upper body and down the vessels of my right arm. My strong arm. And then I try to stop it. On the cap of my knuckle, on the middle finger of my right hand. There.
Morphed.
No time to waste. I switch hands, grasping the boy's calf with my right hand and sliding my left hand up his leg to the outside of his mid-thigh. Phillus tries furiously to pull his leg back, but I won’t let him go.
“Argh! Fuck off!” he says through gritted teeth.
I hear Elder Tensai shout something, but I don’t make out what it is.
I tighten my grip and let Phillus struggle. His balance is entirely on his back leg, and he shuffles on it awkwardly. Using this against him, I push him back and bring his leg outward—hell, I throw it out—away from me in a clockwise direction.
Swung.
At the other end of the clock, his face comes hurtling towards mine, the picture of regret.
I reverse the momentum that I created by throwing his leg outward. Then I swing my upper body around, coiling my entire body until tight.
And I hold it for a moment.
The beauty of fighting exists in the moment.
The moment I am faced with my most raw instinct.
Fight or flight?
Flight has no worth here in Chrystheria. So, I choose to fight.
My heart beats once, and I release everything in one devastating rotation. I whip my hand outward, upward and inward in one magnificent motion.
With all my might, my steeled fist crashes fucking gloriously into Phillus's jaw. His eyes roll into the back of his head and his body drops to the floor. He’s unconscious.
Knocked out.
Stories of his coming preceded even the earliest humans on this island, before the Inception.
‘Tis a cruel world this one, that snatches such a fate from one who suffered solely from the curse that is love.
Kamen’s spirit and his legacy must be immortalised in that of the New Divine Ruler.
His will be done.
CHAPTER TWO
I felt a bit bad that they had to drag Phillus out by his ankles. Not that bad, though. Winning always feels good, and it’s good to be back.
Plus, at least his pants stayed up this time.
An entry from Alex Zashin’s private journal
Date of entry: K-DAY, 144 PI
“...and that’s when he told me how male porcupines will actually pee on the female porcupines, almost as a bit of foreplay,” Kai explains.
I look between Crystal and Kai, slowly.
“What?” he asks, noting my confusion. “I think more people need to hear about this.” All three of us pause, thinking for a second. Then I break into a hearty laugh. My stomach creases in two as Kai snorts, choking simultaneously. Crystal suppresses a laugh to my right.
“You’re an idiot, Kai,” she points out, chuckling.
“I didn’t say I’m not. I just said that Kyolholmen is far better than Lundamira. And I stand by it! You don’t get that kind of information in Lundamira. Not from a stranger over a good ale, anyway,” he replies. His voice is rich in the typical Kai manner. It’s one that masks his real intelligence well. “You were there, Alex, you remember?”
I think back. The memory is somewhat pushed aside, and I nauseously remember why as I retrieve it. “Uh—yeah, I was around. I don’t think I was sitting with you that night, though. I was...” I start.
“Oh, yeah.” Kai rolls his eyes. “With her. Why are you bringing her up?”
“You brought her up? Bastard.”
“No, you—”
“Oh, you’re as bad as eachother, honestly. Give it a rest,” Crystal interjects.
I stop. We share a look. Kai grins at me, attempting to hide it from Crystal.
“I saw that,” she says. “And Lundamira is the best island. The other two don’t even come close. Kyolholmen is full of chickens and drunk men, neither of which I particularly like encountering. Chrystheria is... Well, I know what this place is. But Lundamira? They stored over a thousand books within their library. I mean, that was before the fire, but the information—the knowledge stored there, must have just been... incredible. And that’s not even mentioning their architecture.” Her gaze is firm as she finishes her train of thought.
“Hmm. You’ve got a point,” I say. “But you’re forgetting a few things about our...” I pause, searching for the right word. “Esteemed friend, here.”
“Oh, yeah?” she asks. “Such as?”
“Well, to be frank: Kai is a simple man who can’t read, can’t spell architecture, likes chicken and is probably one of the drunk men in question.”
Kai pauses, turning his head slowly. “Now that’s just not true,” he says, pointing a finger. “I fuckin’ love chicken!”
I roar with laughter and slap him on the back. Crystal rolls her eyes but smiles. She turns away from us both, apparently resigning from her attempts at an intelligent conversation.
I stare off at the horizon as my chuckle fades into a sigh. Despite the late evening, the air still feels hot. Chrystheria’s climate is always warm. It’s a lingering, sticky heat that makes whatever clothes you’re wearing stick to you, and it never seems to go away. I look at the small droplets of sweat on my arms, and I recall what I did with those arms this morning.
I beat Phillus, my first opponent of the year. As expected, to be honest—but in epic fashion, if I may say so myself. The corner of my mouth rises at the thought. I replay the knockout in my mind, just trying to savour the art of it all. The moment, the rush, the success—there's nothing like that feeling. Nothing in the world.
The three of us sit between the last line of trees and Chrystheria’s sandy shore, doing what we should do after a hard day of battle: relaxing. True, we’re doing some things we shouldn’t do too, but who’s counting?
As if reading my mind, Crystal reaches into the inside pocket of her clothing, wincing and holding her ribs with her other hand as Kai opens his mouth to speak.
“You didn’t have to humiliate Phillus with the flashy bullshit today, Alex. He’s a good guy, really.” Kai speaks with a mix of amusement and disapproval. “You’re unbearable sometimes, you know that?”
I feel the air grow hotter around my face and shuffle awkwardly on the grass.
“Cost yourself a point by fuckin’ around and letting the two-minute mark pass, too. The elders weren’t impressed. You should’ve seen old Ven Xhensson’s face, hiding in the shadows. If looks could kill—and I’m not certain that his can’t—you’d be a dead man,” he adds.
The yell I’d heard from Elder Tensai before I knocked Phillus out was the two-minute announcement. If I’d hit him ten seconds earlier, I would’ve got two points for beating him, but I’d wasted time—and wasted a point.
“Oh, I—”
“It was pretty fuckin’ spectacular though, you asshole. I’ll give you that,” Kai laughs, waggling a finger at me.
The air cools again, and I can’t keep the smug grin from breaking across my face. I’ll just have to stay more alert next time and make sure the fight gets finished in under two minutes.
I watch as he chuckles, shaking his head. It’s big and round and reminds me of the moon. Looking at him just makes me laugh. Not in a mean way, though: there’s nothing wrong with him, but nothing spectacular about him, not even anything abnormal, really. He’s just... Kai.
His brown hair is cropped close to his forehead and all the way around his skull. His hazel eyes are the same colour as his scraggly beard, which wraps messily around his chin. His stocky frame matches the roundness of his head, and his clothing is just ever so slightly too small for him. He’s barely changed since we were kids, and we were best friends back then, too. He still wears the same stupid smile and still has his mother lay out his clothes for him each day, Kamen bless her soul.
“You won, too, Kai. Two points. It’s a hell of a start, ‘cro, and it puts you in a good position going into K-2,” I say back, shifting the conversation away from my own win—only slightly reluctantly.
“Yeah, it was against Hashan, though, the rat,” he starts, looking sideways at Crystal. “I see how he managed to finish below Phillus last year now. Good thing he yielded when he did, though, ‘cos I thought I was gonna shit my pants if I strained for much longer.” Crystal coughs.
“I can’t believe he actually yielded before the two-minute mark,” I say. “Were you beating him that badly, Kai?”
“Absolutely not,” he replies. “I thought my performance was kinda poor, actually. I guess he’s just a bit pathetic. Screwed himself over for K-2 with the Farmer’s Curse, too, hasn’t he? A bad yield has knock-on effects, as they say.” He shrugs, and I return the gesture back at him. Crystal narrows her eyes at Kai, impaling him with one of her stares. He doesn’t notice.
I empathise with Hashan for a moment. To think he would yield before two minutes had even passed—it does seem a bit pathetic. Yielding within two minutes isn’t against the rules, but even if you are losing, it’s best to take the beating for two minutes to avoid the two-point deduction you get for a quick loss. It’s tough, but this is the K-League. In a competition of forty Fighters who are made to watch every single fight, yielding within two minutes in front of the other thirty-nine—willingly accepting a two-point deduction—is a huge mental setback.
The Farmer’s Curse.
It shows weakness and, well, weakness won’t cut it in the K-League. Hashan isn’t a bad guy, but like Kai says: he is just a bit of a rat. He gets a lot of stick from both the elders and the K-League fighters. I try to avoid jumping in on the blatant bullying that other people dish him, but I don’t exactly help him either. He’s just got to do better—be better. It’s as simple as that.
Crystal opens her mouth as if to change the subject, but she hesitates. Then she meets my eyes and speaks. “You morphed for your knockout today, right Alex? I thought I heard you say something before you hit him.”
She sounds apprehensive. I nod.
“And how did it go?”
“Ask Phillus.”
“I’m asking you,” she replies.
“Well, it worked. Obviously. But...”
“You missed,” Crystal notes, reaching out and taking my hand in her own. I shoot a side-eye at Kai in surprise. She rubs her thumb over the top of my knuckle, then quickly drops my hand as if remembering something that drags her out of the moment. I tilt my head slightly. Then my eyelids droop, and I curl the corners of my mouth into the most sarcastic of smiles at her.
She’s right. I had tried to morph my middle knuckle, but my aim was off. My attempt at morphalteration instead hardened the knuckle of my index finger. My unhardened middle knuckle then took the brunt of Phillus's jawbone, leaving it slightly swollen. That’s what I get for trying to look cool, I guess.
“Looks like your Biolocation needs improvement,” she says, imitating the nasally voice of Elder Tensai and raising her eyebrow at me. Again, she’s right. I’d successfully hardened my body using the ‘harden’ command, so my Intention and Verbalisation must have been on point, but the misplacement tells me my Biolocation was off.
“You do a good impression of your old clan man, Crys. Bet you know his whole ‘three basic keys to effective morphalteration’ system better than he does, too,” Kai says.
Crystal sneers. “Don’t call him that.” Then she smirks. “You’re probably right about the second bit, though.”
A bee lands on her shoulder. She turns to look at it. Her expression becomes warm and her upper body relaxes. The insect takes to the air once again, flying off her shoulder and towards a purplish flower beside her. The bee hovers for a moment before landing on the strange, circular centre of the flower.
“It’s an Ophrys flower,” she says softly, reaching for the plant. “The ‘bee orchid’. The black and yellow centre of the flower looks like a bee. Do you see?” She looks up at us both. “Male bees, with their unique biology, are drawn to it. That same bee, with that same male biology, tries to mate with it, of course. It’s being misled by the flower, really. But when the bee lands on the flower, the pollen is transferred from the bee to the flower, and it blossoms. The world is a better place for it, and yet the bee didn’t even know what he was doing. Cruelly poetic, in a way, isn’t it?” She rests one hand on the grass and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear with the other as I stare back at her.
“How on earth do you know that?” I ask.
“I read Alex,” she says, dropping her chin at me. “I learn about the world!”
“I read, too, but I’ve never—”
“So, let me get this straight, Crystal,” Kai interrupts, waving his hands about. “Horny bees are tricked into spurting on a flower, and you think it’s poetic?” I fight the curling of my lips as I look to see how Crystal will react.
She’s deadpan.
She can’t fight it for long, though, and a grin breaks across her face.
“You really have a way with words, you know, Enran. A way of ruining every conversation you contribute to. I wouldn’t expect you to get it, anyway,” she says. Then she takes a deep breath and switches her eyes blatantly between me and Kai.
She opens her left hand and flicks two fingers towards her face. A pearly white, spherical object launches from between her fingers. She catches it between her front left teeth, held in place by her tongue. A drop of laughter now falls out of her mouth as she bites down.
The crystalline shard in her mouth vaporises, and a misty white cloud forms just beyond the edges of her lips. With a single flick of her tongue, the fog whips itself into a swirling haze before disappearing into her mouth as she inhales. The muscles around her eyebrows relax, and her eyes soften. They flutter, catching my own before diverting down into the grass between us.
“Thanks for the tip, Tensai,” I reply, raising my eyebrow back at her and holding out my hand in an indicative gesture. She rolls her eyes, but she smiles softly and quickly reaches into her pocket once more to toss me a crystal. She studies me nervously as I catch it with a downward sweep of my hand. Turning my wrist over, I roll it around in the palm of my hand.
Chrystherium.
As we’d so aptly named it. It’s become a small habit of ours recently. I open my hand completely, but I don’t take the crystal straight away. I hesitate with it in my palm. It’s one of the only forms of release around here, other than the tavern on Kyolholmen. We shouldn’t really be dabbling in either, but Kamen will forgive us.
Probably.
Plus, the elders care only about what happens in the K-League, if they’re honest. I guess no one can save humanity if they die of boredom as a teen. So, as long as we show up, train hard and fight harder, they couldn’t give a rat’s arse about what forty teenagers get up to in their spare time. Thank Kamen for that, I say.
I watch Crystal cover her mouth with her hand as she falls silent and surveys the horizon. There’s a glow to the startling grey in her eyes. Her sand-coloured hair flows gently in the wind, hanging just past her shoulders. Her lip trembles. I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t staring. I pause for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “You did well today, too, Crystal. Screw Jakun, everyone knows he’s a cruel bastard. You’ll beat him next time, though.”
“Mhmm,” she muses.
Noted. Don’t talk about her fight today.
She’d faced Jakun Xhensson, an unfortunately brutal opponent to fight on K-Day. Although her morphalteration is definitely better than his—and most of the K-League's at that—he's on another level in terms of physical prowess and sheer fucking sadistic violence.
I like to think of myself as a respectful Fighter. Jakun? Not so much. I’d even heard some of the latest Fighters to join the league call him Bone Breaker, for his (apparently now reputable) record of fracturing several of his opponents' arms and legs during his fights. He’d been the only person to beat me twice last year, too. The only person who’s still around, anyway.
As if reading my mind, Kai chirps in with a reminiscent comment. “I wish Shinho were still around to kick his ass. He didn’t lose to Jakun once. He was always a humble bastard about it, too.” Crystal makes a sound that catches in her throat. She continues to stare at the horizon, eyes glassy. I smile, a soft but sad expression taking over my face.
“Yeah. For sure. He knew what he wanted and he did everything he could to get it. He was the best of us. Damn bastard,” I say with a sniff. Crystal bites the inside of her cheek.
“You’re the same, Alex,” Kai says. “You’ve got a real good chance of winning this year if you really go for it, I think. It’s your last year now you’re eighteen, too. That’s what you want, right?” He’s eyeing me as he says it.
I feel heat rush to my face. “Er—I don’t know, ‘cro. It’s whatever, really, I guess,” I say back, confused by the thought. “I don’t want to put too much pressure on myself, you know?”
Kai taps his thumbs together. He looks as though he’s going to press the matter, but then he sighs quietly and looks away.
Crystal wipes her nose with the back of her hand as she turns to face me. “How are you doing, anyway, Alex? You seem to be doing a bit better recently. Have you spoken to Lou-Anne?” Crystal asks, spinning the conversation back on me. My breath catches in my throat.
“Hope not,” Kai coughs.
“Shut up, Kai. You don’t know her, what she’s been through, what they’ve been through...” she says back. Then she turns to me again. “Do you want to? To speak to her?” Her eyes now pierce mine.
“No,” I say. I’m not even sure if I’m telling the truth or not. Crystal nods but doesn’t continue the conversation, thankfully. The exchange makes me want to forget, and I open my hand once again. A sensation like the flapping of wings passes through my body in anticipation. Kai watches me with interest.
“Fine. I’m not going to be the only one. Come on,” he says, gesturing at us both.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Yeah. It was a strange experience last time, but my mother didn’t raise no quitter,” he replies. I nod at Crystal, who’s already eyeing Kai. She reaches into her pocket a third time and goes to pass him another flash of white.
She pauses with her arm extended towards him.
“You haven’t told anyone about these, have you?”
Kai shrugs. “No. Why would I?”
“Good. Keep it that way. Alex?” Crystal asks.
“Nope. We promised,” I reply.
She nods, relaxing. Then she hands Kai the Chrystherium.
Seeing him grab it, I copy Crystal. I chuck the Chrystherium towards my mouth and catch it in my teeth. I bite down and the same white cloud seeps outward. I try to flick my tongue between my teeth like Crystal. Nothing happens. I frown. I hear an exhale to my right, and then I inhale. The mist vanishes into my lungs.
“Not bad, newbie,” Crystal says, smiling nervously. Kai peers down at his own crystal, which he holds in his hand before he throws it towards his face.
It hits him straight in the eye and falls down into his lap.
He looks between us and the floor as he holds in his laughter, his face turning red. He now places the crystal in his mouth, bites down and inhales the mist. I go to laugh, but then a deep sigh falls out of me from within. I feel the muscles in my face relax. In fact, I feel the muscles all over my body. Truly. An acute awareness of every fibre in my body suddenly presents itself, both surprising and soothing at the same time. Something itches in my brain. Then I zone out.
“Well, I think I’m gonna turn in for the night,” Crystal says some time later, tucking a piece of paper into her sleeve. Her eyes are still fixed on a faraway point.
“Me too,” Kai says, to no one in particular as he jolts up.
“I guess that’s that, then,” I confirm. I feel slightly groggy as I say it, as if I just rejoined the conversation after waking up from a nap. My spine aches, for some reason. We rise to our feet and say our goodbyes. I draw back my hand and slam it into Kai’s, our palms interlocking. Our thumbs stay pointing upward as our hands clasp each other.
“May the legacy of Kamen be yours,” we say together out of habit. We bring our foreheads down to our thumbs until our heads touch, and then we smile. We take turns doing the same with Crystal, who mutters something under her breath, before we part ways once more.
My next bout isn’t for a few days, but that doesn’t mean it’s time to rest on my laurels. One down, seventy-seven to go. The K-League is no joke. Tomorrow won’t be easy, either. In fact, I don’t think a single day of my life has ever been easy.
My mind is racing as I jog home. It’s a blend of today’s epic highlights and nervous anticipation of what’s to come. I can’t complain about my result today, but I also can’t shake the sickening uneasiness that plagues me. Normally, hanging out with Kai and Crystal puts my mind at ease, even after we’re done joking together.
Something feels off today.
What is man if not an accumulation of his duties?
Should man forego such duties, then he is no man at all. A man’s duties require strength, and the Lord was strength himself. The more duties bestowed upon a man, the stronger a man must become. Yet in turn, the stronger the man, the more duty man is entitled to.
This is the way of the Lord.
CHAPTER THREE
I think I’m better off staying out of Ven Xhensson’s way until the day I can exceed his expectations. And my own.
An entry from Alex Zashin’s private journal
Date of entry: 141 PI
The sun is rising when I wake up. My parents were asleep by the time I got in last night, and I can still hear snoring as I get up and throw on my Fighter’s gi.
My brother is nowhere to be seen.
Grabbing a small banana, I head out of the front door and set off at a steady jog. My home is one of the furthest from the sanctum, located in the jungle that is the northeast of the island. Sand and dirt crunch beneath my feet with every step. Green envelops me. The rows of trees thin as I get closer to the sanctum, transforming instead into the flatter fields of farmland. The ever-present haze above the rice fields lingers like thin smoke. Then the signature architecture of the Kakuto Sanctum appears in the sky. Its beautifully slated roof hangs over the sides of the main building in stunning patterns. Two golden curves protrude from the very top of the sanctum, as if the structure were actually some kind of horned beast in disguise. I admire it as I run towards the entrance.
I arrive first among my friends, to no one’s surprise. I stand alone, stretching out the stiffness in my body as I wait. Several minutes pass before Kai appears in front of me. His hair bears the distinct shape of his pillow. Crystal arrives shortly after, and we head in together.
I spot Phillus, whose face is now bruised and swollen, talking to a small, skinny boy whose face I can’t see. Getting closer, I see that it’s Hashan, the rat that Kai fought yesterday. The pair are huddled together in one corner, whispering to each other. Phillus is grimacing and they’re both sweating. Jakun is standing a few meters away; he’s the brute who’d beaten Crystal. He seems to be in high spirits as he pretends to cower in fear and shake his head. He’s sneering at Hashan. I look away.
“I wish he would have a day off. Or just, I don’t know, like drown or something,” Kai says. I nod, and we move further towards the Sento pit in the middle of the sanctum. I look around as we progress, spotting familiar faces in all directions. We’re one of the last groups to enter, and by the time we make it to the outskirts of the pit, all forty of the K-League Fighters are in the sanctum. They all wear the same clothing I do: a Fighter’s gi. It’s a black, two-piece uniform that fits loosely, allowing for a wide range of motion. The uniforms are all the same, except for the belts tied around our waists. Those come in different colours, with each shade representing the clan to which we belong. The blue of mine makes me a Zashin.
Bobb Enran, elder of the Enran clan, stands in the middle of the pit, his frame wide and intimidating. The rugged old man is often in charge of our training, and he’s known for his unforgiving nature.
Enran’s lips mouth something I can’t quite make out, but then his next words project across the huge interior of the building, much louder than the human body should be capable of.
“Fighters,” he booms.
“Listen up, but settle not.”
The sanctum falls silent. Heads turn in his direction.
“You made the cut once again. Congratulations.”
The Fighter standing next to me is shaking nervously. It’s Olly, a fourteen-year-old kid who made his debut in the K-League yesterday. He’s a Zashin, too. I give him a wink and a nod as he looks up at me. He unclenches his fists.
Enran’s gentle stare makes a slow arc of the room before falling upon Phillus and Hashan.
“Even if it was only by a hair.”
Jakun sniggers, but the elder shuts him up with a mere movement of his gaze. The corner of my mouth rises.
“And after what I saw yesterday?” he continues, rubbing his hands together. “Well, sure, some of you won, but can I be honest with you? Yeah?”
He nods, smiling.
“I didn’t see a single fucking moment worthy of Kamen. Not one. Nowhere near good enough.” He pauses. “You know what I did see?”
There’s a deafening silence in response, which the elder expected, of course. He then proceeds to answer himself.
“Spinelessness,” he says, lifting his eyebrow at Hashan.
“Foolishness.” He switches his eyes to a group of snickering boys leaning over the fence of the pit, spearheaded by a boy named Benji.
“Arrogance.”
I swear his eyes lock with mine.
“One complete loop! All of you!” he demands.
Right after K-Day? The man’s a sadist. For sure.
“One complete loop?” Olly repeats to me, confused. I think about replying for just a moment, but then I’m forced into silence as I see the elder’s eyes sparkle.
“You’re right, young Olly. Two loops! Now! No breakfast for the loser!” he barks.
I grimace at Olly. “Of the island, little 'cro,” I explain. His jaw drops a little. So does mine. Two loops. That’s damn near thirty kilometres. I huff a sigh, but I know better than to wait around. I turn on my heels and jog past the crowd, leading the way out of the sanctum.
Just under two hours later, I race back through the entrance, the fourth Fighter to finish. I’d been on Benji’s trail for most of the race, but I still hadn’t managed to catch him. Jakun follows closely behind us, looking pretty pissed about it. I offer him a smile.
He scowls back.
“Watch it, Zashin,” he says through deep breaths. “Beat me on a Fight day. Then you can wear that arrogant look on your face, pretty-boy.”
Is he insulting me or flirting with me?
“Until then, keep on beating on the fat kid, and disappearing when it matters. I’m no fat kid—you know that I actually can beat the shit out of you,” he spits.
Definitely insulting me.
I swallow.
The humbling essence of hand-to-hand combat is that sometimes you are simply bested, regardless of whether you think you’re right or wrong, better or worse, good or bad. You lost: what are you gonna do about it? Beat them up?
The K-League—Chrystheria even—is a hierarchical pit of violence. There is an irrecoverable level of status stolen from every loser, every time.
I flex my fingers, but I bite my tongue and turn around to face away from him. He prowls over to Benji, and they slam their hands together before breaking into conversation.
My heart pounds.
Just stepping out into this island’s heat makes me sweat all over. After stomping around the entire island twice, I feel as though half of my mass has disappeared in water weight. I take a cup of water from the table off to the side and linger around the entrance.
I stretch out my now even stiffer body, waiting for Crystal to finish. She comes in around twentieth. Kai stumbles across the line in the bottom five, and Hashan finally finishes in last place, almost forty-five minutes after me. There’s a ring of vomit around his mouth—he must have deposited the rest of his stomach somewhere along the shore of the island.
Following another lecture on our general inadequacy from Elder Enran, we all break for breakfast—all except Hashan, who lies face up on the floor, panting.
Breakfast is the usual chicken, rice and green eggplant. It’s somehow bland and deliciously spicy at the same time. The rice is dense. It seems to fill me with life, and I inhale it.
I’m careful to sprinkle some salt flakes in my water to combat my dehydration. Kai turns his nose up at this. He proceeds to moan throughout the whole meal; by the time my plate is empty, I know his own aches and pains better than I know my own.
The sustenance of fresh food sends a wave of replenishment through my body, which is exactly what I need for the second session today. We leave the dining hall in a huddle. Hashan remains on the sanctum floor. His expression has gone from something like desperation to a look of resolution. That’s no bad thing: he could definitely do with some more resolve.
He pulls himself up and we all head over to the Sento pit once more. Elder Enran is standing ready, doing his best to look imposing. To be fair to him, it is working. He commands the room well. His next command will determine the type of training we’ll be put through.
“Partner up,” he says. “Eighty/ninety. No morphing. Twelve rounds. Three minutes. Don’t lose.”
He means sparring.
Thirty-six working minutes. Eighty or ninety per cent of our power. I’d expect nothing more than thirty-second breaks from old Enran. Five and a half minutes rest, total. Easy enough.
Relief comes with the freedom to choose my own partner, as I don’t feel like facing Jakun today. Instead, I feel like putting Kai through the wringer. I shoot a side-eyed glance at him. He winks back at me, a cheeky grin on his face.
Crystal pairs with Lou-Anne and my heart jumps at the sight of her black hair. I look away and spot Phillus and Hashan in a heated discussion. I can’t make out what they’re saying but Hashan shakes his head, and Phillus leaves his side for another boy, a slight frown on his face.
Jakun looks at me, then at Kai. “No surprises, then, Zashin,” he says to me. “Keep choosing the easy pickings, and I’ll keep beating you when it matters.”
I look at Kai, who frowns.
“Did he just call me easy pickings?” he asks.
“I think he did, Kai.”
“Thought so.”
We turn around in unison, not dignifying him with a response. Jakun lingers awkwardly before turning to Hashan.
“What do you say, Rat-an—want some friendly rounds? You’ve got a Farmer’s Curse to shake, right?”
Hashan has his head in his hands, staring at his feet. He looks ill. To my surprise, though, he meets Jakun’s gaze and nods, signing his own death warrant. Kamen save him, I think.
I head over to one of the closest sparring fields with Kai in tow. We wait for Elder Enran to sound the bell, and then we engage. I take an aggressive approach, making Kai pay for any weaknesses I spot in his defence. He takes the hits for two rounds before he eventually finds a rhythm and returns a few in the third. We break for the fourth and catch our breath.
I’d seen Crystal and Lou-Anne grappling on the floor. Lou-Anne, with her mesmerising face and tight figure, is not just a pleasure for the eyes. She is, unfortunately, an admirable Fighter, too. I gawk at her now, watching her pull up her sleeves and breathe deeply. With their significant weight disadvantage, both her and Crystal rely heavily on their grappling ability, and seeing it in action is just wonderful for my eyes. I shake my head and look around.
Hashan and Jakun had also been wrestling on the floor, but it’s significantly less sexy. I can only guess that Jakun is using Hashan as a weaker opponent to practice on. The brutish boy now stands in the corner of their field, looking at Hashan with a strange expression, which I assume represents fury. Then he turns in a slow circle so that his back is turned to Hashan, who seems to be trembling.
“That was much better ‘cro. Good round,” I say, turning to face Kai.
“About time, eh? You battered me for those first two,” he laughs back.
It’s true, but he took it well. I stop for a second to appreciate my close friend, caught by this random moment of gratitude. “You—” I begin to say.
Then I stop.
The hairs on my body stand suddenly.
The air tastes colder and my eyes flash across the scene, tracking the scent of blood filling my nostrils.
I hear the crack behind me before I can even begin to process what’s just happened.
React. Fast! A voice in my mind shouts.
My head whips round. My entire body moves before I have any time to comprehend the decision it's already made. I dart in the direction of the cracking sound, but then I freeze in my tracks. All of my heightened senses dull for a single heartbeat. It’s like someone claps their hands around my head—hard. A hurricane of nausea navigates its way through my nervous system.
My eyes lock with a glistening pattern on the floor. No—it’s the pattern of the wall. It’s just reflecting on the floor. From a small pool of blood that’s gathered.
Around Hashan’s feet.
No, he wouldn’t have. Surely not.
Not Hashan.
The hot mouth of death huffs a single breath down my spine.
The reflection shatters as something sharp falls from Hashan’s hand into the pool of blood. Three scarlet droplets trickle through his palm and off the end of his ring finger.
Would he?
Jakun stands a meter in front of him, frozen.
He looks unharmed.
His stare is fixed on something beyond Hashan’s shoulder, a mix of disbelief and terror on his face. I glance upward.
Hashan’s face is captured in time, shocked still.
His eyes are wide, his cheeks bloated. Sweat hangs from the tips of his hair. Where his ears would normally stick out, though, there’s more skin. Calloused, wrinkled skin. Hands? Yes, but not Hashan’s. These are older, more worn.
My gaze slides upwards, to the figure towering behind Hashan.
A menacing shadow lingers at his feet.
There’s a cold, hard look on his face.
It’s Ven Xhensson.
Why is the elderest elder in the middle of the Kakuto Sanctum right now? How did he get there so fast? I hadn’t heard a command word, but even if I had, it’s incomprehensible. I look at Hashan again. He doesn’t look back.
How can he, with his neck snapped?
The colour has already left his face. I’m looking into the eyes of a dead man.
No. Boy.
A dead boy.
A sixteen-year-old, dead boy.
Hashan.
Two more beads of scarlet weep from his fingertips, and into the growing pool beneath him. Within the red pool lies a translucent object, jagged and small enough to conceal in one’s gi. The dots connect in my brain.
Wrathobat.
Surely, he wouldn’t.
An act of Wrathobat—to wield beyond the fist—is the ultimate dishonour, the unforgivable sin.
Hashan drew a weapon on Jakun.
He would.
Ven lets out a strained exhale.
His gaze is focused on Jakun.
A huge vein in his forehead pulsates.
Turning in a slow circle, he averts his gaze from his son-in-clan. Then he manages to pierce the soul of every single person in the crowd with just a sweeping stare. When he opens his mouth to speak, the breath of an entire room hangs on his every word.
“Anger... is a fleeting madness.”
Ven ensures every syllable lingers, with a soft yet murderous violence. He grips Hashan’s head harder with his right hand.
“But strength is an eternal right.”
The boy’s face distorts and drips with blood as the elder’s nails pierce into the flesh of his face.
I hear a girl cry out.
“You must look at this,” he says, reasoning with the room. He directs his vision back towards Hashan’s glazed eyes, and the scrutiny of an entire building follows suit.
“This dishonourable madman—this nameless sack of meat—shall be forgotten by day's end. But the sun will rise to your eyes once more. So, ask yourself how you intend to welcome it. A coward, perhaps? A sheep to the shepherd of emotion? Anger’s personal puppet?”
Literally gripping Hashan’s corpse by the holes that his fingernails have made in his face, Ven throws his hand outward, casting the boy’s limp, lifeless body to the side.
“No,” he declares.
“Such cowardice is a stain on the blessed name of Kamen.” He turns as he speaks. “Only the courageous are strong. Only the strong are victorious—and make no mistake: there is no substitute for strength.”
He kicks the bloodied shard of glass with his foot, knocking it into the view of those at the back of the room.
“The promise of death looms over us all. In death, you will be nobody and nowhere. Nothing. Not a thing you have or love will exist. At least, not unless you can prove yourself worthy. Worthy of Kamen’s Legacy.”
“Refute this if you can, for it is nothing but the truth that I seek.” He’s almost smiling now. “Lord Kamen willed for his truth to be spoken. Hear me, now, Fighter, for I am the speaker—and this is the truth.”
Should any man stand in the way of the second coming in any capacity, of the Lord’s will, then they shall receive no mercy. For this mission is my soul, my purpose, my very being. It is everything, and all else is nothing. It must be.
May the legacy of Kamen be yours, now and forever, for it could never be mine.
‘Tis a cruel world this one.